Food festivals are suddenly all the rage. They’re not only popular, but can
transform the local economy, finds Xanthe Clay.

First there was Ludlow, kicking off in 1995, then, four years later, Abergavenny, nicknamed the Glastonbury of food festivals. Now the calendar is chock-a-block with food fests, offering local produce, demonstrations and the occasional pop-up restaurant.

It all makes sense for thriving market towns, or big cities such as Liverpool, with tax revenue or grant money to invest in events. But increasingly the little guys are getting on board: places like Clovelly in Devon, which hosts a renowned herring festival in a village with a population of 443.

But the mini-est of them all lies to the far south west of the British Isles. The Scilly islands of Tresco and Bryher (180 and 83 inhabitants respectively) last year launched their very own food festival.

Do the Isles of Scilly have any food to shout about? I lit out across the Celtic Sea to find out. As the water taxi whisked me from the heaving metropolis of Hugh Town, St Mary’s Scilly (population 1,068) my expectations were low. Small – minuscule – islands are not known for great produce. They can rarely grow a decent proportion of what they eat, and additional ingredients are expensive to import. And the Isles of Scilly are no exception.

But Tresco – a private estate owned by the Dorien Smith family, who also own Hell Bay Hotel on Bryher – was impressive for all its minute 2½-by-1 mile dimensions. The local beef cattle, which graze placidly on fields overlooking the tiny harbour, get top prices at market, though with no abattoir on the islands they have to be shipped to the mainland for slaughter, then returned to be sold at the island’s restaurants, and eaten (possibly with a bottle of fine claret, sold at bargain prices from the Dorien Smith cellars).

A Fifties-style spirit of enterprise is alive and well in the Scillies. Children paint limpet shells and leave them out for sale; notices advertise fresh-caught lobster and crab deliveries, spanking fresh garden produce is displayed in unmanned stalls equipped with honesty boxes. One of Bryher’s most popular products, Veronica Farm fudge, was first made and sold 20 years ago by the then 10-year old Issy Taylor (now Tibbs) to fund her ballet lessons. Her mother, Kristine, has taken over the business, selling the delectably crumbly fudge by mail order as well as at the garden gate.

Issy now runs Samson Hill Cottage down the lane (nowhere is very far on Bryher), and also manages the festival with the Tresco marketing manager Alasdair Moore. She told me over tea in her garden (equipped with a wood-burning oven for twice-weekly pizza sales) that after spending a few years on the mainland as a BBC producer, she’d come back and “was shocked at how much there was here, food-wise”. Why did she and Moore decide to start a festival? “It’s great to be able to meet the fisherman who caught your lobster or the farmer who reared your beef. But it also helps change the one-dimensional perception of the islands as a bucket-and-spade destination.”

But aren’t these food festivals just the stuff of middle-class luvvies? Martin Orbach, who runs the Abergavenny Food Festival, admits that the artisan nature of food festivals can be divisive. If you’re on a low income, no one could blame you for snarling at stalls selling £5 loaves of sourdough and Wagyu steaks at £30.

But Nick Miller of Miller Research, who has done extensive research on food festivals for the Welsh government, reckons that is changing. “Food festivals are starting to fulfil a social regeneration function. There are lots of small community events, often in deprived areas, which are getting people to engage with the food agenda, to try local fresh food.”

Even among the middle classes, there has been a change in what people want from a festival. “Rather than coming just to shop and taste, they want to actually make the sausages with the sausage maker.”

The economic benefits are real too. “The producers get access to new markets but the greater benefit is to the communities as visitors come and spend money in restaurants and hotels – and with luck return,” says Miller, who estimates that food festivals in Wales are worth up to £35million. But happily, says Orbach, it’s fun. “When the festival comes to town it’s party time. And everyone loves a party.”